


The long and winding roads to Moscow

by Downtherabbithole850



Category: Homeland
Genre: Angst, Carrie is a mess, Enemies to Lovers, Excessive use of the F word, F/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Season 8, Slow Burn, There will be Plot, Until I get tired of it, Warning: Graphic depiction of torture, With the exception that sometimes someone eats something, Yevgeny leans a lot, alternative POV, feeeeelings, sorry but eh, this is homeland, warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24677788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Downtherabbithole850/pseuds/Downtherabbithole850
Summary: Carrie and Yevgeny’s journey as they struggle to find a way to trust each other.An attempt at filling the 2 years after gap.
Relationships: Carrie Mathison/Yevgeny Gromov
Comments: 45
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey people !  
> This is my first fan fiction ever after years of procrastination. It looks like the C/Y stuff finally got me.  
> -I would like to dedicate this story to the amazing Hell Yeah Homeland girls and homeland fic writers. I see this as my redemption after having enjoyed contents and C/Q fics for so long without ever producing any.  
> -Kindly note that English is not my first langage and I would like to apologize in advance for any mistakes - I would love a feedback about that btw.  
> -Special thanks to the lockdown/unemployment situation that has taken my homeland obsession to the next level, and allows you now to read my first fanfic.  
> -I spent waaay too much time on that first chapter and I hope I’ll be able to post the second one in a not too distant future...stay tuned!

It was like deja vu all over again.

Her, sitting in the passenger seat of a car, looking by the window at a desert and arid landscape, lost in thoughts. Him, driving in silence besides her, determined and focused on the road.

After they had left Dorit’s house he had made some calls to his contacts and they were now heading fast towards Ramallah, using secondary roads and carefully avoiding checkpoints.

It was only a few days before, maybe a week, in another desert and arid landscape that she had had this sudden reminiscence of an other time, another life, with another man sitting next to her in the passenger seat of a car.

At that time she had just turned her back to Saul and rushed into yevgeny’s car. Again.

Watching Saul’s helicopter fly away, she had felt her world come crashing down, like she had reached the point of no return.

She had done a lot worse since.

And now the consequences of her actions appeared to her with a clarity she would have gladly dismissed.

In the last few days, she had been so completely absorbed in her mission that she had never dared to contemplate life afterwards.

Today, the monotony of the road allowed all kind of devastating thoughts to assault her, gradually triggering waves of panic.

Franny was obviously the most excruciating one.

« I always come back... » she had told her daughter a year earlier. 30 minutes later, she was on a flight to Moscow in « all in » mode, only to be captured by the Russians and disappear forever from her daughter’s life. Just like her own mother did.

_Your father ? Oh, do you really want to know ? He was a traitor and a terrorist. Well, that’s not exactly the truth but that’s what everybody thinks anyway, with the exception of your mother who is, by the way, also a traitor and presumably involved in the crash of the United state president’s helicopter, had an American asset burned and ran away with a Russian intelligence officer. Presumably just because he was hot and she couldn’t resist another twisted relationship with a shady guy. Of course she loved you very much, but you know, she had greater priorities. And she had that mental illness - which obviously wasn’t helping._  
_She is most likely dead by now._

_Better consider yourself as an orphan._

Jesus fucking Christ. She'd much rather be dead to Franny than let her think she abandoned her. But that was never going to happen. Maggie would find all kind of sweet lies about her until Franny grows up and eventually find out the truth. Or at least the official version of the story.  
Which was far from being the truth.

By running away, she was ruining any chance of ever being able to explain herself. Not to her daughter, not to anyone...

Why did everything had to be so fucked up that she had to betray her country to protect it? That the only person she could still rely on was precisely the man who had put her in that position in the first place? Who had tortured her for months ? Who had toyed with her feelings to get her trust him ? Who had also saved her life more times than she was willing to admit?

She glimpsed at him, her very own beautiful enemy. She realized she didn’t know much about him when he knew pretty much every dark corner of her soul. That was quite unsettling. And somehow arousing?

Oh, yes, she had read his files. A few lines of bio interspersed with blanks. No mention of background, family or even of a date of birth. He remained that elusive figure, crossing borders unbeknownst to anyone and brilliantly sowing chaos wherever he went.

Here and there, his signature was reported in Ukraine, Crimea or Libya. Then he’d went dark for several years before recently reappearing in the United States.  
That was when it all started, this big plan in which she was an unwitting pawn.

By what failure of her sick mind had she become dependent on this man?  
To be perfectly honest, she was largely responsible for her current situation. At every step of her erratic mission in Afghanistan, she had taken the bait. She had constantly sought his presence, clinging to him like a lifeline. As she had told that FBI agent, she had found in him the aid and comfort that her own side had denied her.

That was before everything spiralled out of her control. Before he put a needle in her neck and asked her the impossible.

She'd been so angry afterwards. At him of course, but also at herself for trusting him, and at her own side for losing sight of what was important.

For Christ sake, he had manipulated her to the point where she had actually considered killing Saul. Was this stupid black box she was obsessed with so worth it or was there another way out like Saul had suggested ? Was her still healing mental state responsible of this whole mess?

What was wrong with her ?

She felt like she was drowning.

Hectic thoughts, sweaty palms, racing pulse...

She frantically opened the window, catching her driver’s attention.  
-What’s happening? You ok ?  
-No, listen, I’m not gonna make it, she blurted out. I just ... can’t! Please just drop me at the US embassy in Tel Aviv and I’ll turn myself in. Please, Yevgeny...  
He stared at her in disbelief as she was nervously squirming in her seat, on the verge of tears.  
-What do you mean you can’t do it? Isn’t it a little bit late for second thoughts?  
-I thought I could but right now everything is clear to me : I can’t just leave like that. I have my daughter, my family over there. They don’t know where I am, if I’m dead or alive. They will hear things about me... wrong things. At least I need to explain myself!  
-Carrie, both of us know you have no choice. His tone was harsh, just like when he had asked her to find out Saul’s asset, and she felt her heart sink a little more.  
You’ll spend the rest of your life in jail as a traitor to your country. Is that what you really want?  
-No, that’s not what I want. But is my life in Moscow going to be very different from that ? Tell me, Mr Planner, what’s your next plan for me exactly?  
-I told you : our contacts will smuggle you into Syria and then we will exfiltrate you through...  
-No, I mean after, in Moscow, she cut him off.  
What will happen there Yevgeny ? Are you going to lock me up in your fancy Datcha/dungeon? Am I supposed to give away more classified information while you get a promotion?  
Her voice was now verging on hysteria.  
Because just so you know I won’t be a fucking trophy you shuffle all around Moscow!

She realised she might have gone a little too far when he abruptly braked and stopped on the side of the road.

She jumped out of the car. She was in a perfect mood for a heated argument and began pacing in the sand, rising clouds of dust around her.  
She sighted him approaching her like a predator before his prey and she remembered for a brief moment that he never hesitated to get rid of an embarrassing asset.  
She was pretty sure he was about to kill Simone, his longtime girlfriend, on that day in Moscow. But somehow, she was also pretty sure he wasn’t going to kill her now.  
He must have had detected some kind of apprehension in her eyes because he softened up his attitude.  
-Look Carrie, I know it’s not easy for you and I can see you are mad at me but believe me : right now I am your best chance to make it out of this country. So what you need is to calm down and let me take care of this or...  
The self-confidence and nonchalance he displayed was beyond infuriating.  
-Or what ? Are you going to kill me ? Put a needle in my neck? Tell me, how do I know you're not planning another twisted stunt for me ?  
He shrugged.  
-I guess that you’ll have to trust me. It’s not like you have a lot of options.  
-That’s the thing, Yevgeny! I don’t know if I can trust you. Because you keep blowing hot and cold and I don’t know what to think anymore.  
Her voice broke on those last words and she turned around to hide her tears.  
She heard him sigh soundly and seconds later he was towering over her, so close that she could feel his breath in her neck.  
-I never lied to you Carrie, he said in a low voice. I don’t think I can say the same of you.  
She abruptly turned around. The bastard even had enough nerves to sound sincere.  
-Oh ! so according to you, manipulation and deception do not fall into the category of lies?  
-Stop playing innocent, Carrie. I didn't do anything you wouldn't have done. Actually you did manipulate me. Maybe that’s what you’re doing right know. And to be frank I don’t know if I can trust you either. But letting you down after the sacrifices you have done for us is not part of my plan.

She was now trapped between him and the car. She turned her face away, trying to freed herself from his pervasive presence. He grabbed her chin to force her to look at him and all of a sudden she wasn’t so sure she wanted to fight anymore nor why she had started this. He sure knew how to calm her down.

-Look at me Carrie. At that point I can’t promise you anything about your future. What I can tell you is that I’ll do everything to allow you to build a new life in Moscow. I’ll help you...  
And you won’t even have to see me if you don’t want to, he added in a breath.  
She frowned. She certainly did’nt want that.  
-Are we good?, he asked after a while.  
She nodded slowly.  
-One more thing, Carrie.  
He caught a lock of her hair blown away by the desert wind, and tucked it delicately behind her ear. She held her breath.

-You’re not a trophy to me.

************

Back in the car, it took a few minutes of heavy silence before she started to speak again, in a low and weary voice.

-Listen, I’m sorry. I know you’re doing everything you can to save my ass and I don’t want you to think I am not grateful for that. It’s just that I’m so lost... I just feel like a fucking wreck right now.... I don’t even understand why you keep sticking around.

He looked at her and smirked.

-Maybe because you’re a lovely wreck?

That was a stupid joke, but it allowed him to catch her smile, and maybe even a shade of pink on her cheeks, before she looked away through the window and fell back into her reverie.

Carrie´s smiles were so rare and precious that he could remember every single one of them.  
Of course she didn’t smile much in the asylum, but during their getaway in Afghanistan, she had granted him of a few. Sad smiles, mostly, but smiles all the same.

He was much more familiar with the sad version of Carrie, which included a impressive range of nuances.  
Well, she certainly did have reasons to be upset, considering her current situation.

Not to mention that he was the one who had put her in it.

And he wished he had’nt.

  
If she had once trusted him, it was all over now. That’s what she had told him, even though she was still here with him.

Cost of doing business.

Since when did he allow himself to dwell on the past? He was never one to indulge in regrets, or question his actions as long as it was for the sake of his country.

But with her, he was venturing into dangerous waters. He was losing control and he did’nt like it.

He had sensed this when he had announced to Mirov that he was leaving for Afghanistan to reconnect with her. To persuade him that it was worth it, he had put back on the table this plan about Saul’s asset, which he did not even really believe in. He had told him that he could manipulate her after their time together at the asylum. In the end, they would get something out of her.

The truth is that he wanted to see her again.  
He wanted to make sure she was okay. He wanted to apologize.

Because he had missed their long, deep conversations in the woods, the raw sincerity with which she had confided in him, her head on his shoulder, her hand in his.

Because at her side, he had felt somehow more alive.

Of course, he had ulterior motives but at the same time he couldn’t bring himself not to care for her, when every single thing she told him resonated in him in a deep, intimate way.

In the end, he had been caught up in his own game.

He glimpsed at her. She was still daydreaming but her face seemed now more relaxed and she was looking straight ahead.

He knew she was fully back on tracks when she started asking about the guy they were supposed to meet in Ramallah. A Syrian fruits & vegetables dealer, Ahmed, who apparently spent the last 10 years of war smuggling all sorts of merchandises in his truck through the highly guarded borders of the region : Weapons, migrants, dirty money, spies on the run...

When the Russian army had landed in Syria, he had been recruited by the intelligence services. According to the Damascus GRU station that sent him, he was reliable and efficient.

Once in Syria, Carrie would be picked off by a GRU team and taken to the Russian embassy. There, she would have to wait for the green light from the highest state authorities before being exfiltrated from one of the Russian airbases in Syria.  
He, for his part, would supervise the application for political asylum in Moscow and negociate the conditions of her stay.

The whole process could take a month or so.

She listened carefully as he unfolded the plan and asked every details, her sharp mind on edge.  
And he felt relieved, mainly because she finally seemed to give a shit about what would happened to her.

When they reached the meeting point, an old disused shed in the outskirts of Ramallah, it was already dark, and Ahmed’s truck wasn’t there yet.

Yevgeny pulled a bag of groceries out of the trunk of the car.  
-Wanna eat something ?  
-Sure, she smiled.

Carrie wasn’t eating much, as usual. She was distractingly dipping her bread in a bowl of hummus, lost in thoughts.  
-There is something else I’d like to clear up before leaving, she finally declared after a few minutes of silence.  
-Ok.  
-I need to know for sure. Or all of this escape plan will be pointless.  
-Ok...What is it?  
She sighed.  
-Can you look at me in the eyes and say that I won’t be asked to cooperate again once in Moscow? Because I won’t. I've already held up my end of the bargain, right ?  
-Yes, you did. Asking you to work for us after you gave us the asset was never something that was put on the table when I evoked political asylum as a counterpart for you. But surely you must know that you will be debriefed multiple times by multiple intelligence services at your arrival?  
-I do, but debrief is very different from... questioning. Anyway, I guess you guys realize that you’ve already gotten everything you needed from me the last time ?  
He didn’t reply. That wasn't a conversation he wanted to start now.  
-There is something I need you to promise, too.  
She looked at him, intrigued.  
-Tell me that you’ll stick to the plan here and do what you are told, Carrie. Because I'm not sure I’ll be able to defend you to my superiors if you go rogue.

 _And I don’t want to lose you_..., he thought.

Before she could reply, a huge truck broke into the shed.

Ahmed and another guy got out from the truck and Yevgeny walked towards them, closely followed by Carrie. He motioned to her to stand aside and let him handle it. She stepped back, not without showing her annoyance.

The first contact with Ahmed went well. Carrie would be hidden in the truck in the middle of orange crates for the entire trip, which was to last about 6 hours.  
Yevgeny had almost finalized the details of the transfer when Ahmed started asking questions about Carrie.

How the hell was it possible the Damascus team didn't brief him properly?

And when he learned she was American, he went ballistic. He didn't deal with Americans, those vipers. If he got caught with an American in Syria, that would be the end of him. Yevgeny tried to explain that she was working for the Russians, offered him more money, then threatened to report him to the Damascus station for refusing to cooperate.

None of this seemed to convince him.

That's when Carrie invited herself into the game.

She began to speak to Ahmed in Arabic - a language Yevgeny did’nt understand- in a soft and sincere voice.

It was pointless to try to stop her.

So Yevgeny just leaned on the back of the truck and enjoyed the show, arms crossed on his chest.

God, she was good at it. Persuading people.

He had experienced it in that obscure backroom in Kohat. Like today, he had leaned against a workbench and watched her display the full extent of her talents.

He could have been done with her sooner but the need to know what she had in mind had prevailed.  
He did’nt regret it.  
She had first appealed to his conscience by declaring that he was finally a good guy. Then to his professional skills by offering a partnership with her in the grey areas, as she called them. He had almost bursted out laughing when he had realized that she was probably buying into her own fiction.

It was then that she had played her final card. Her voice had become seductive, enticing, when she had evoked their intimacy in the asylum.

And then they had kissed.

And he had lost himself in the moment, with her mouth on his, her body wrapped all around him, her hands in his hair, her breath in his neck.  
He had wanted to believe that she meant it. That she too felt this underlying connection between them, which had started in a squalid asylum in Moscow, and flourished along the roads of Afghanistan.  
Didn’t she ?

But she had finally broken the spell and he had detached himself from her reluctantly, cursing himself for falling for it in the first place.

Luckily she did’nt kiss Ahmed, but the moment she felt she had convinced him, she touched his arm and thanked him with teary eyes and trembling voice.

Now the poor guy looked like he could take her to the end of the world if she asked him to. He clearly did’nt know who he was dealing with.

-Are you going to tell me what the fuck did you say to him?, he asked her in a playful tone a few minutes later, as she was packing her things.  
She shrugged.  
-Nothing in particular... what he needed to hear I guess... she replied without lifting her eyes from whatever she was doing with her belongings.  
You know, sometimes money and threats aren't everything...

Great. She was now teaching him his job. She really was one of a kind.  
-Ok ... I’ll try to remember that...

It was well into the night when Ahmed declared it was time to go.

Their eyes met in a silent understanding, where doubt, fear but also hope mingled.  
Although she seemed confident, certain signs in her behaviour did not fool him. Her hand clenching on her thigh, that frown between her eyes, and the way she was staring at him like she was looking for reassurance.

He took her arm and drew her to the left side of the truck, away from the eyes of the two Syrians.

He put his hands on her shoulders and looked straight into her eyes.  
-Listen Carrie ...  
He hesitated.  
There was a lot he wanted to say to her but he didn’t know how and he was afraid to let his anguish of leaving her alone in the middle of a war zone show through. The fact that her eyes were wide open in expectation did’nt help.  
-I ... think you should take an Ambien before leaving.  
-No, I want to keep my mind clear.  
-Are you sure you're going to keep your cool once you're stuck inside that truck?  
She rolled her eyes.  
-Ok, you’re probably right. I’ll take one.  
After a pause, she added:  
About what you said earlier... you don’t have to worry about it...I’ll stick to the plan...  
Plus, I'm dying to see the Red Square again.  
He almost snorted. He loved that dark sense of humor she managed to show in the worst of times.  
He tilted his head and sized her up for a moment. His beautiful and fearless Carrie.  
She started squirming awkwardly, avoiding his gaze.

So he just grabbed her face between his hands and put a light kiss on her forehead.

-You’ll be fine.

And he quickly walked away towards his car before he could catch her reaction.

******

She managed to climbed into the truck with jelly legs and pounding heart.  
She turned around, just in time to see him giving her a last look, standing next to his car. He adressed her a small nod of reassurance from afar and she found herself wanting to run after him and hold on to him.

How many times did she have to watch him leave ?

Fucking déja vu...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carrie is in distress. Yevgeny is her knight in a fucking shining armour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it took me ages to write this chapter down. I struggle a lot with English and didn’t have much time to write recently.  
> Beware : this one is dark - graphic depiction of torture and PTSD.  
> Hope you’ll like it !  
> 

It striked her as she stepped on the tarmac of a military base in the outskirts of Moscow.  
  


_ That’s it. Here I am. My new homeland. _

She shivered.

There she was again, in that country where she had landed a year earlier under very different circumstances, and where she had been held prisoner for 7 months.

There she was, standing alone in the crowd, surrounded by the indecipherable humming of the voices and laughters of returning soldiers and their families, holding closely her one and only bag containing the last remnants of her former life: some clothes, a few bundles of dollars, and the picture of a little girl in a yellow raincoat...

Since Damascus, the last 72 hours had been an endless succession of multiple transports, military bases, sleepless nights, and suspicious glances from her travel companions.

To say that she was exhausted would have been an understatement. A growing migraine was pulsing behind her eyes and she was freezing in the grey and damp Russian late afternoon.

She would have given anything to be welcomed into the warmth of a home. To curl up in a soft armchair in front of a fireplace. She wanted Maggie to hold her and tell her everything was going to be ok.

Half to warm up, half to comfort herself, she tightened her much too light jacket around her waist and anxiously scanned the airfield, looking for Yevgeny’s tall silhouette among the crowd of uniforms.

“I’ll see you on the other side”,  he had said to her the last time they had talked.

In the plane, she had mused over their reunion. The thought that he'd be there waiting for her, most likely casually leaning against a wall, was the only thing that kept her head above the water.

She had had little opportunity to talk to him in the last few weeks in Syria and each of their conversations had remained strictly professional. He had limited himself to informing her of the developments of her application or asking her to write letters to intelligence directorates, ministries, and even to the president of the federation.

She had missed being around him.

She had missed this warm feeling of safety, and the weird understanding that existed between them in spite of the mistrust imposed by their respective sides. Above all, she couldn’t forget his small attentions towards her on the way to Ramallah, his hand on her cheek, the glimmer in his eyes before he left her.

Of course, she couldn’t ignore the possibility that what she wanted to interpret as some kind of tenderness was at worst the most convenient way to encourage her to follow the path he had traced for her, at best the manifestation of the affection that usually unites a handler to his asset. And she had swore to herself she wouldn’t fall for his bullshit again. After all, he was a great manipulator, just like her.

Yet she was still dreaming of their kiss in Kohat, this intoxicating mixture of bliss, danger and triumph that had invaded her when she was in his arms and believed he would do whatever she would ask him to do.

“Miss Mathison?”  
  


A middle-age blonde woman with a strong accent was standing in front of her, taking her out of her reverie.

“Welcome to Moscow. I’m Tatiana. If you'll follow me, we have a few formalities to go through”

“Where is Yevgeny Gromov?”

“He was delayed, he will join us later. Let me help you with your bag.”

She was all smiles and deference, but something was wrong with her. Something about the coldness of her eyes and the rigidity of her posture. 

Her uneasiness increased as she followed Tatiana inside one of the airport buildings and gradually sank into a succession of stairs, dimly lit concrete corridors and armoured doors. 

She tried to brush away the half-buried memories that this setting brought back in her but as they reached the second basement, she found herself seized by panic.

“Listen, Tatiana, I’d rather go back upstairs and wait for Yevgeny”, she blurted out.

She didn't expect much from life at this point, but she certainly didn't want to end up in the basement of a Russian Military airport with a bullet in her head.

“I’am afraid that’s not possible”, Tatiana replied. “We do not have time to wait for him.”

“Can you at least let me call him and clear this up?”

“I can assure you there is no need to call him. He is fully aware that we will proceed without him.”

Wearing a reassuring smile, she gently took Carrie's arm to lead her down the stairs.

She backed away instinctively.

“Don’t touch me! I won’t go anywhere as long as you don’t tell me who you really are and what we are doing here!”

The grip on her arm became more insistent and she felt the distinctive pressure of a gun in her back. Her blood froze.

From behind, Tatiana whispered in her ear : “Come on, Miss Mathison, you don't want to be taken away by force.Don't make a fuss and follow me.”

_  
Her, being dragged by two strong men, kicking and screaming, as Yevgeny’s silhouette fades away in the dark. _

“No, you can't do that! I’m under the protection of the GRU!” she shouted.

“I'm afraid Yevgeny Gromov will be of no help to you here.”

And everything went dark.

  
*

She regained consciousness under a series of slaps and a glass of water thrown in her face. She was utterly disoriented and it took a while before her vision focused again and she could figure out where she was and what was happening to her.   
  


_ A small room with concrete walls - no window - a white neon - a table - 2 men, one sitting behind the table, the other standing next to her. Her hands and feets bound to a chair. Oh, and a blonde woman leaning on the wall in a dark corner. Tatiana. _

For a moment, she hoped she was in one of her recurring nightmares but the sensation of the slaps on her cheeks was far too vivid to be a figment of her imagination.

He had promised to her she wouldn’t be tortured again...

She had to keep it together. It was just another interrogation. She had survived many of them before. And she didn't have much to hide anymore. 

But when the questions came, harsh and relentless, it was the 7 months all over again. 

The worst part of it wasn't the information they were trying to get out of her or even the brutality of the beatings.

The worst part was the constant stream of long suppressed memories that suddenly poured into her head, taking precedence over reality, and robbing her of any will.

_ She is dragged by her hair down a corridor and thrown into total darkness. _

_She is curled up in the corner of an empty room, someone is shouting in her ears something she doesn’t understand_.

_ She is hiding under her bed, talking to dead people. _

_ She realizes with incommensurable relief that she can make a rope out of the sheets of her bed. _

She was loosing it. Her whole body was shaking and she couldn’t breath anymore.

The beatings of her heart and the screams she heard in her head - or was it her actual screams?- were covering the voices of her interrogators, leaving her physically unable to understand or answer any of the questions she was asked.

She wished she could lose consciousness again.

At one point she felt like her mind had left her body, and she was floating above the room. 

She didn’t know how much time had elapsed when loud voices were heard in the hallway. The door burst open and  she sighted Yevgeny storm into the room closely followed by what looked like a heavily armed ops team.

In the midst of her panic attack she found herself mesmerized by the sight of him. She called out to him, or at least she tried to, but her voice got stuck in her throat, only letting out a broken sob.

Dark and menacing, his coat floating behind him, he crossed the room in quick strides, shouting orders in Russian.

He radiated such fury that she backed off a little bit when he approached her, violently pushing one of her interrogators along the way.

She heard him curtly ordering someone to untie her and suddenly his hands were all over her and he was speaking to her with a pressing voice.

“Come on, Carrie, let’s get you out of here.”

He helped her getting on her feet and she intuitively clung to him like a drowning man to a lifeline. Her legs failed to support her, and he almost had to drag her along the hallway. Her vision blurred again as she was running out of air.

“I ...I can’t breath”, she managed to say.

He opened a door and she collapsed on the floor of a disused bathroom, leaning against the wall. He crouched before her and cupped her cheeks in his hands, concern all over his face. 

“Look at me Carrie, you need to breath. You’re ok, take a deep breath. 

It’s over.”

She grabbed his arms eagerly and managed to focus on his eyes, which bored into hers. After a few moments, her breath aligned with his and the beatings of her heart slowed down, leaving way to violent sobs.

When he sat down beside her and drew her into his arms, she crawled across him and huddled up to him, her face buried in his neck. Here, she had the fleeting sensation of finding a familiar place again after a long time. The sensation that she was exactly where she needed to be.

“Where were you ?” she asked him between sobs.

“I’m here Carrie, shh. I’m sorry. I’m with you now.”

“Don’t leave me” she begged.

He held her tighter against him and rocked her gently.

For long minutes, she completely gave in to the feeling of melting into him. And when the tears and shivers stopped, onlysilence and sensations remained.

The steady beats of his heart. His breath in her hair. His hand on her back. The troubling scent of his perfume. The softness of his coat under her cheek.

_ I’m safe,_ she thought.

She completely lost track of time and when he gently asked if she was okay to leave, she couldn’t have told if 10 minutes or 2 hours had passed.

She reluctantly disentangled herself from him and he helped her getting on her feet. 

It was dark and a light rain fell on the deserted tarmac when they went out. Without a word, he put his coat on her shoulders as she started shivering, and led her to his car with his arm around her waist.

She suddenly stopped, panicked again. 

“They kept my bag!”

“Stay here, I’ll be right back, ok?”

Once in the car, wrapped up in his giant coat but away from his enveloping presence, she slowly began to come to her senses.

It occurred to her that, once again, she had quite made a spectacle of herself and displayed her vulnerability to him in the most raw and intimate way.

Part of her was ashamed. She didn’t want him to look at her like a weak little thing. Another part of her remembered how good it felt being in his arms. 

Like being home. 

Just like when he had comforted her after Max’s death.

Just like the many times she didn't even remember but had the confused feeling they happened, in jail and then in the asylum, when he was there for her after the interrogations that left her broken.

And, imperceptibly, the light touch of a doubt grazed her mind. At first insignificant, it soon lingered and spread inside her like a slow poison, leaving the bitter taste of betrayal in her mouth.

By the time he came back to the car and sat beside her, the idea had grown and eventually imposed itself, breaking her heart on the way.

She spat it out in one breath:

“Was this an other one of your tricks?”

*****

He put her bag in the trunk, got into the car and tried to contain himself, hands on the wheel. He would have gladly killed someone right there, right now, preferably the bunch of FSB officers that were still in that basement.

The thought that someone had hurt her under his watch was sickening. Even more disturbing was the idea that he had done the same thing to her, and even worse, a year before.

He swore to himself that this would be the last time he would see her in this miserable state of anguish.

She was silent beside him, with her characteristic frown between her eyes, and her lips tightened. She nervously wrung her hands in her lap and he couldn't resist grabbing them.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to happen like this. I should have known... “ he started cautiously.

“Was this an other one of your tricks?” she cut him off, abruptly pulling her hands away from his grasp.

And when she turned to him, her face was the embodiment of disappointment, despair, and anger.

He stared at her, puzzled.

“What are you talking about Carrie?”

“I don’t know, YOU tell me ! “ she exploded. “You seem to have this habit of saving me from whatever the fuck you put me through. So, tell me, was it your bad cop/good cop routine again ?”

So that was it.

How much longer would it take before she stopped seeing him as her enemy ?

“Is that really what you think, Carrie ?” he replied, trying his best to mask his exasperation.

“And why would I do that ? Why would I do that when I spent the last month trying to get you here? Do you think I'm enjoying setting up fake interrogations for the perverse pleasure of seeing you strapped to a chair? Do you really think I enjoy it? “

_ Can’t you see how sick it makes me feel seeing you falling apart again and again?_

“Maybe you do”, she snapped back. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

She was exhausting. But she was right, in a way. It felt like his past actions came back to slap him in the face.

“Well, you can believe what you want as long as I’m concerned. And if you don’t trust me, you still have the option to leave. But if you stay, you’ll have to deal with me. I’m afraid that’s all you have for the moment.”

She stared at him, speechless, and he felt that he had hit the nail on the head as her features softened and a hint of regret lit up her eyes.

As their sudden burst of resentment morphed into an equally sudden silence, he took the opportunity to start the car.

After a few minutes, he felt calm enough to continue the conversation.

“It was the FSB - counter intelligence division. I should have known they were onto something. I was told your flight had been postpone to tomorrow. When I realized something was going on it was already too late. “

She shook her head helplessly.

“They took me by surprise when I was vulnerable”, she said matter-of-factly.“That was pretty smart of them. Actually I would have done the same thing, had I got to know that a foreign defector was about to land in my country.”

“No, that was more about a vendetta. As you know intelligence agencies here are not exactly best friends. Not everybody likes me, nor is everybody pleased with you here. They used you to get to me.”

“Anyway...that was a nice reminder of my last stay here... would have rather not being reminded of certain things though...

He feared that she was going to detail what she had been reminded of but she deflected.

“You know what’s funny about all that? “ she asked, suddenly rekindled.

No, he had no idea how something funny could come out of this.

“They couldn’t get a thing from me”, she continued. “The traumatic setting they put me in was so effective that I couldn’t even understand one of those damn questions there were asking me.”

He sighed.

He really needed this conversation to stop and he felt relieved when she added :

“I’m sorry for what I said, I didn’t mean it. I am not thinking clearly. I am so fucking tired.”

“Yeah, I know. I am taking you to the apartment they arranged for you. It’s some kind of a safe house complex for our staff. You’ll stay there during the debriefing period until you get your papers done.”

She nodded. 

“How was Syria?”, he asked her after a few minutes, to cut off the heavy silence that had established again between them. He was aware that it might not have been the most appropriate topic to lighten the mood, but it was the only one he could find to distract her from the dark thoughts she seemed to bury herself in again. He wished for an unlikely future where small talks between them would be actual small talks.

“Surprisingly boring”, she deadpanned without looking up at him. “No one tried to torture me.”

He did not know what reassured him more, that she had been treated well at the embassy, which he had made sure, or that she still managed to show sarcasm. So he just nodded in silence and let her return to her thoughts, as it seemed obvious that she did not wish to say any more.

As the city lights appeared in the distance, he was left wondering if he would be able to protect her from all those who would inevitably rise up against her in this hostile country she now had to call home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carrie has housing problems. Yevgeny is happy to help.

She scanned the room in one glimpse: raw white light, mint-green walls, a small window with bars, a bunk along the wall and a kitchenette - rather clean, efficiently depressing.

Everything was reminiscent of a prisoner's cell. Not to mention the countless CCTV cameras and security doors they had to go through before they got to the apartment.

Well, at least she would be safe here.

She did’nt have high expectations regarding her accomodation and she never was one to worry about her comfort, but being here after what had just happened, on the first day of her new life...

She sat down on the bunk, and managed to put on a brave face, hoping Yevgeny would’nt notice the burgeoning tears in her eyes.

Standing in the middle of the room, he was also assessing the place and when he finally turned his attention to her, he looked preoccupied.

She stared back at him, with a question in her eyes but the only answer she got was him putting her bag on the table.

“Open it”, he asked her.

“Why ?” 

“Open it. Or I’ll do it myself.”

She reluctantly stood up. His tone was irrevocable and she didn’t have the energy to protest anyway. And the second she complied, he started rifling through her bag and inspecting each of her things one by one. She let him do so and just stared blankly at him but when he came across Franny’s frame and started dismantling it, she rushed towards him.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing?”

He put his finger over his mouth to signal her to shut up and slowly pulled a small black device out of the back of the frame.

Their eyes met. Of course they had bugged her things. She should have known better. It looked like she had lost her most basic instincts.

On further inspection, he also found a tracker device in one of her shoes and more bugs hidden in the lining of her jackets. He threw them on the ground and crushed them one by one with the heel of his shoe.

She let herself fall back on the bunk, sighing, and began putting Franny’s frame together while carefully avoiding looking at the picture because she knew too well what would happen if she did. The idea that they had found and touched Franny’s picture was worst than anything they had done to her during the interrogation. She felt like they had violated her private sanctuary, cut the last thread linking her to her daughter. She began to compulsively stroke the frame, as if to wash it from an imaginary dirt.

She didn't realize she was crying until a big tear crashed onto the frame.

She heard him approaching with quick strides and seconds later he was crouching down in front of her. She found herself overwhelmed by the realization that, once again, she craved his touch and comfort.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked in one breath.

How could she explain that to him? That such an insignificant incident made her feel as if a safe part of her mind had been ripped out of her?

”It's nothing. It will pass”, she finally said, gesturing to her tear-washed face and cursing herself for being such a crybaby again.

He delicately detached her fingers from the frame and turned it over, revealing the picture.

“That’s Franny”, he declared after a while.

That wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway. Of course he knew about Franny.Most likely from the circumstances of her conception to her abandonment, not to mention the horrifying bathtub incident she was apparently so willing to tell him on one of their walk in the asylum.

Oddly enough, Franny’s name in his mouth was somehow comforting, making her daughter less distant, more real.

As he contemplated the picture, she wondered if he was about to bring out one of those banalities that people never failed to say : that she was adorable or that she looked like her mother.

But a smirk slowly curved the corner of his mouth and when he looked up at her his eyes were playful.

“She doesn’t look like you.” he said flatly.

She managed to snort faintly through her tears.

“No, you’re right, she doesn’t... I hope so...”

He tilted his head and stared at her, suddenly serious again after her self-loathing display.

She shook her head.

“I do not deserve her. I never did” she said, as if she was talking to herself.

He said nothing, but his disapproving gaze spoke volumes and she turned away, unable to held it any longer. She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. She was tired of crying. Tired of being herself, this useless lot of guilt, sadness and regrets. She just wanted to curl up in a ball and disappear from the sight of the world.

“You can leave, you know. You don't have to stay. I can take care of myself. ”

She was still wearing his coat and began to take it off to give it back to him, but he stopped her and put it back on her shoulders.

“You can keep it, we’re leaving.”

“What do you mean ? Where?”

“Home.”

He had dropped this in the most casual way and it took her foggy mind a few seconds to process what he meant. 

Did he mean his place?

“No, like I said, I can take care of myself.” 

“This isn’t a suggestion, Carrie. I’m not leaving you here after what happened today. Come on.”

“No, wait. You can’t possibly take me to your place. How are you going to justify this?”

He had taken the tips of her fingers and stroked them absentmindedly with his thumbs. There was something about their almost intertwined fingers that she couldn’t quite place but moved her deeply and left her on the verge of tears again. She was such an emotional wreck. And being left alone with her thoughts in that sordid appartment was indeed the last thing she wanted right now.

He gave her a reassuring smile.

“I’ll find something. Let me handle this, ok?”

*

When she entered his apartment half an hour later, she couldn’t hide her surprise.

"Well... that’s... impressive," she declared, standing in the middle of the living room, discovering around her the luxurious duplex with full bay windows offering a breathtaking view on the Moscow skyline.

“I did’nt know the GRU treated its people so well...would have showed up earlier had I got to know.”

As he was walking towards the kitchen, he stopped at her remark and turned around. Leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded across his chest, he was clearly amused.

He smirked at her.

“Better than the safe house, I guess ?”

Was it his seductive pose, his piercing gaze that seemed to read right through her, or the way his smile slowly faded away to give way to some kind of a tender expression ?

She felt her whole body suddenly ignite and she just stood there, not knowing what to do with herself while he kept on staring at her.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was slow and uncertain, as if he was still immersed in his thoughts.

“I’ll find us something to eat. Your room is over there. I guess you want to take a shower?”

She was indeed dying to take a shower and she took the opportunity to escape his gaze and flee in the direction he had indicated.

There, she sat down, closed her eyes and let the hot water wash away the memories of the day, her body still burning from an unmistakable heat.

Jesus fucking Christ, he had taken her to his den and she had let him do so.  Of course, he had pointedly slipped in on the way here that she could sleep in the guest room. Yet she couldn't stop her mind from raving about what it might mean, her being here, what might  happen , with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

Was it all a lie again? A sweet way to smother her a little bit more?

Wasn't that  precisely what she would do, if she were in his place?

 _Always an ulterior motive_.

Wasn't that what they were all condemned to, after all? A life of deception and arrangements when sincerity seemed far too difficult a goal to achieve? When truth was too insipid to live in?

The idea suddenly crossed her mind with a disconcerting clarity that perhaps the country in which she had just landed was none other than her own purgatory. That, after a life spent manipulating and deceiving, perhaps her penance consisted in eternal doubting his intentions, in an ironic reversal of fate. He would constantly be there before her, tempting her like the seductive devil he was and she would never be able to trust him the way she would have liked.

But what was she supposed to do then with the longing that she sometimes captured in his eyes? With the worry on his face when she’d broken down on the bunk. With his hands that lingered over her whenever she needed them?

She suddenly felt the urge to go back to him and she abruptly turned off the water and got out of the shower.

She had no idea what time it was. Maybe 8, maybe 11 in the evening, but she felt like that night would never end.

She didn't know whether to get dressed or just put on her pajamas, although the idea of being in pajamas in front of him seemed ridiculous. She spent a good deal of time rummaging through her things and finally opted for the least dirty ones she could find - a blue t-shirt and grey leggins that she usually wore for running.

When she returned to the living room, he was still busy in the kitchen and she took the opportunity to study the details of his living space, comfortably settled in the sofa.

It was a very masculine apartment, no wonder, and a very sophisticated one, in a way that fitted with her perception of him. It was the apartment of someone who didn't spend a lot of time there, judging by the lack of clutter. Someone who left no room for chance. There was very few significative personal belongings in sight, apart from all those books in the library and a few family pictures, the details of which she couldn't make out from where she was standing.

When he came back from the kitchen with a tray and sat down on the couch, not far from her, she suddenly felt shy in his personal environment, not sure how to hold a casual conversation anymore.  
Everything seemed so fucking mundane and real, from his books on the shelves to the sandwich he was handing her. As if an unspoken and unattainable desire was suddenly fulfilled and she was not fully prepared to live it.

“You ok?” 

“Yeah..., she smiled shyly.

And surprisingly, she meant it. Fatigue aside, she was feeling better than she'd felt in a long time. She realized she even was starving and decided to focus on the smoked salmon sandwich he had prepared. Who fucking knew that the ruthless Yevgeny Gromov would have fresh lettuce in his fridge?

“Tell me about this panick attacks. How often do they happen to you?

She stopped chewing, swallowed and looked up at him in disbelief. What was wrong with him?

“Well, only when I'm being tortured by russian operatives in the basement of a military airfield” she snapped back.

It looked like her fantasies of normality had just been nipped in the bud. Nothing between them would ever be normal. Would she really want that anyway ?

He slightly bit his lower lip and briefly closed his eyes as if he regretted his words.

“Ok, I guess you don’t want to talk about it. I am asking you because a debriefing is scheduled tomorrow morning at the headquarters. You’ll meet the board of directors before... I need to know if you’ll be ok? Do I have to postpone it? ”

”No don’t, l’ll be fine. I want to be done with these debriefings as soon as possible.”

After a while, she continued in a low voice avoiding his gaze.

“I was regularly having them at night at the beginning when I was in Germany. A classic case of PTSD, they said. And then it subsided...until today...”

He sighed and looked away briefly, with what looked like an unusual hint of embarrassment. 

”I'll find you someone who can help you and who you can talk to” he finally declared, returning to his usual self-confidence.

”You mean like a shrink ? You know, the problem with shrinks is that I can never tell them much, at least not what would really matter. And that will proven even less possible here.”

He shrugged and smirked to her:

“I guess you’ll have to talk to me then...”

Whatever the amount of mischief in his proposal, the irony of talking about her traumas with one of her torturers did not escape her. That was typically the kind of fucked up situation only her could find herself in and she was about to make another wry comment about it when his phone rang. 

“Sorry, I have to take this. I’ll be right back.”

He left her and the fatigue suddenly fell on her. Her body was still comfortably warm from the shower, and the softness of the couch looked like a welcomed invitation. She let her head fall on a cushion and closed her eyes.

Curled up in a warm torpor, she let herself be lulled by his voice that reached her from afar, an undecipherable music that in his mouth, sounded both soft and harsh in a vaguely arousing way. 

That was the last thought that crossed her mind before she drifted to sleep.

*****

When he returned to the living room, she was sleeping peacefully, curled up in the fetal position, her blond hair scattered around her and the milky whiteness of her naked arms contrasting with the dark velvet of the sofa.

Her usually tormented features were surprisingly soothed and her lips seemed to form a smile. Lost in the vastness of the couch, she looked young and vulnerable, almost childlike.

A protective instinct invaded him and he felt some satisfaction to see her finally give in to the safety he was offering her.

He hesitated to carry her to her bed, but he didn't want to risk waking her up when she seemed to have finally found peace.

So he sat down on the coffee table in front of her and stood there, silently watching her in the dark.

How strange it was to have her here with him and how right it seemed. As if all of a sudden, the events of the last few months had happened with the sole purpose of converging at that particular moment, like the last piece of the puzzle had finally revealed the whole picture.

He could visualize the first time he had seen her as if it were yesterday. A fierce flash of blonde crossing the control screen he was watching, determined to destroy the plan he had meticulously worked out over months. "She's not a idiot," he had warned Mirov. Indeed she wasn’t. His bad feeling had soon proven to be true. 

He remembered perfectly their first encounters during the confrontation between their parties, her sudden outburst of anger at his implacable demonstration of geopolitics, the way they had sized each other in the stairs, his rage at the station when he had found her and realized she had played him, how she had defiantly laughed at his face while she was on the ground, now a prisoner in an enemy country, but nevertheless triumphant.

Such a perfect nemesis. 

She was one of those that every country would want to have on its side because her loyalty was boundless. If he had recognised her as such, it was because he was cut from the same cloth.

He had quickly realized that she wouldn't be easily intimidated.

The stubbornness with which she had refused to bend to his conditions, at the risk of losing her mind, was bound to arouse the utmost respect in the professional he was.

He had left her cell with a sense of waste, leaving her in the hands of the GRU interrogators, almost regretting that this brilliant mind would soon be ravaged by madness.

What he didn't know then was how closely their fates would be intertwined.

It had all started when he’d rushed into her room, saving her from the death she’dhad no other choice than to inflict herself. A powerful sense of responsibility had hit him in the most unexpected way while he was holding her in his arms, unconscious.

When she had woken up, he was at her side, holding her hand.

She was weak and confused, and he had spoken to her softly and carefully, not knowing if his words were reaching her, but hoping she would at least sense his intentions. He had promised her that they would put her back on her meds. That she would be okay. 

She hadn't let go of his hand.

A few days later, as he took her for a walk in the woods, she had begun to confide in him, leaning on his arm.

In the midst of her ramblings, he had patiently waited for her to let slip some valuable intel. 

But it had never come.

What had come instead was a growing sense of guilt that gripped him every time he left her alone at night in that empty asylum room, with only the screams of the other patients to keep her company. He would then spend his evenings at a hotel bar, drinking and dwelling on their conversations again and again, eager to find her the next day.

Every afternoon, she was waiting for him, sitting on her bed, warmly dressed for their daily walk. He could tell she was glad to see him.

Most of the time she was sweet and calm, probably because of the antidepressants.

She spoke with a blunt honesty and he listened to her without judgment. Who would he be to judge her? She had done despicable things and so had he.

Sometimes she was quiet and she listened to him thoughtfully while he found himself revealing more than he would have liked. 

He remembered she was pale and beautiful under the cold light of winter. 

He had soon noticed that they couldn't stand nearby without touching each other. Without them being aware of it, their hands found their way alone to an arm, a shoulder, a back, another hand. When she was upset, she used to put her head on his chest in a spontaneous gesture of trust and he indulged himself to wrap his arms around her. 

Most of the time she did’nt cry.

She simply unrolled the sad ribbon of her life with a sincerity so raw and disarming that it had sometimes become unbearable for him to listen to her. Especially because more than once, it’d felt like that it was him she was talking about.

The fear of loneliness was the thread running in each of their conversations, a burden that had been with her all her life. Her inability to open up to a lasting relationship. Her illness. The men she had loved, then lost. The obsession with her work. The absence of her mother. Her own inability to be a mother.

The remorse. That remorse that seemed to literally eat away at her.

Little by little, he had found himself enthralled by this dark and complex psyche of her.

Little by little, the contours of his plan had seemed more and more blurred to him.

Little by little, she had got deeper under his skin.

To the point where he wasn't sure which one of them had finally got the better of the other.

And when the day to leave her finally came, as the negotiations were taking shape, he had tried to put a name to what had happened in that asylum. He had tried to convince himself that this powerful connection between them had been nothing more than the manifestation of a ordinary Stockholm syndrome.

For many weeks he had tried to chase away those last images of her that haunted him: her, kicking and screaming in a hallway, begging him not to leave her alone.

He’d had to find a mission away from Moscow so he wouldn't be tempted to visit her again. He knew she probably wouldn't have recognized him anyway, once again deprived of her medication.

She had then remained in a remote and dark part of his brain, this very one where guilt and remorse lay.

He even doubted he would ever see her again. But as soon as he had set foot in Kabul, with the vague plan to reconnect with her and see what he could get out of it, he had again felt this irresistible pull.

At first he could not help but be disappointed when he had realized that she had kept nothing of their moments at the asylum. Then he had managed to turn that to his advantage and he had been surprised how easily she had taken the bait. Despite what he had done to her, she apparently trusted him enough to ask for his help, rather than the CIA. He had wondered if she was really running out of options or if she was confusedly feeling something that attracted her to him.

How intoxicating it had been to stand by her side on the field, to team up with her, to watch her in her element doing absolutely everything. He had been swept into a whirlwind whose direction he wasn't sure he had mastered and he had pursued his plan as best he could, taking the opportunities she’d kept offering him, while being gnawed by his own contradictions. He had watched her plunge further and further into an inextricable chaos, torn between the tenacious will to carry out his plan and the irrepressible need to protect her. Because she desperately needed to be protected, even though she was unaware of it. From him and his side of course, but also from her mentor, Saul, who had sent her back on the field so quickly that even he had been shocked, from the CIA which had been so prompt to turn its back on her when ironically, he, better than anyone, knew where her loyalty lay after witnessing the sacrifices she had made for seven months for the sake of a country that did’nt fucking deserve her.

Finally, he wanted to protect her from herself, and that was no small matter.

How many times had he had to restrain her self-destructive instincts?

While he admitted that the way of putting the greater good ahead of her own life had finally proved essential to the accomplishment of his mission, the recklessness with which she threw herself headlong into all sorts of messed-up situations without any regard for her life and welfare drove him crazy. He always feared he would not be there at the right time, like when she’d thought it was a good idea to face a half dozen of Talibans alone and he had rushed after her, stepping in just in time to stop her.

_ You can do just about anything. _

He had meant every word of it.

And she had made the ultimate sacrifice of betraying her country and leaving everything behind to protect it from a certain war, proving paradoxically her absolute loyalty. Despite her disappointment towards her government and hierarchy -  _ bad bosses, even worst leader_ _s_ \- he had no doubt that she remained entirely devoted to her country and he certainly could not blame her for it.

In fact, he admired her for it, and that was something he would tell her one day if she would give him the chance.

What the hell was he doing with her ? He had just spent half an hour explaining to Mirov why he’d had to take her home. He had told him that he wanted to monitor her more closely and assess her state of mind before the debriefing.

What else could he have said?

That seeing her sitting on that bunk, lost in a coat far too large for her, defeated and worn out, had turned his stomach ? That a sudden dread had seized him at the idea that she might decide to end it all, there, in that creepy place?

No doubt Mirov didn’t buy his explanations but he couldn’t care less. 

He would do whatever it took to make her feel comfortable here and he had no intention of being hindered by a few bureaucrats. It was the least he could do for her, even if it meant distrust from his hierarchy and sneering looks from his colleagues, even if this turned out to be his end.

_ Fuck_ . Was he really that far gone ?

And what about her? It dawned on him that she probably wouldn't want anything to do with him beyond a temporary help and that he was just a lifeline for her to hold on to, with no one else to turn to.

He could see that she was constantly questioning his intentions, unable to trust him completely. And how could she, when he had played her so many times along the way that even he couldn't draw a clear line between deception and real care for her.

Yet he hoped that maybe, beneath the surface of what they had inflicted on each other - of what  he had done to her - beyond guilt and forgiveness, lay a much simpler truth: she was drawn to him as he was drawn to her.

After all, she was there, confidently asleep on his couch.

It had to mean something.

His gaze had fixed on her hand delicately stranded on the edge of the sofa, like a wreck at low tide. He suddenly became heavily aware of her presence and fighted the urge to lie down next to her, to take her in his arms and whisper unspeakable things to her...

His thoughts drifted dangerously off course and he was about to get up to go to his room when she stirred slightly in her sleep. Her lips moved without him being able to understand what she was saying and then she opened her eyes.

At first she seemed not to know where she was, until her gaze stopped on him and her features relaxed.

“What are you doing?” she asked with a dreamy voice.

“I’m watching you sleep...”, he simply replied, and his words hung for a while in the silence of the night.

She stood still, looking at him, her lips slightly ajar and her eyes shining with an unequivocal glow. The city lights filtering through the bay windows bathed her in a bluish light, making her almost unreal.

In that half-darkness, he could have sworn she was blushing.

Her hand was still turned towards him, like an invitation, and this time he grasped it gently like a fragile object that he was afraid to break, and began to play with it, his gaze still fixed on her. Then their fingers naturally intertwined, and he brought her hand to his lips, kissing her palm and slowly reaching up to her wrist, then to her arm.

She let him do so, motionless, only the rhythm of her breathing betraying the effect of his actions on her.

He conscientiously continued his work while he saw desire rising in her eyes, mirroring his own excitation.

"Come closer... “, she breathed.

She pulled him to her.

“Please come closer...”

She was now begging him in a feverish voice.

He wanted her so much, it hurt.

He bowed to her and she put her arms around his neck to get up to his level and then buried her face in his neck. He passed one of his hands behind her back to support her, his other hand wandering in her hair and kissed her feverishly on the nape of her neck, behind her ear, on her temple...

Then she raised her head and for a fleeting moment their eyes wandered into each other's faces, as if looking for something neither of them was able to say out loud.

Her features were transfigured by desire.

He grasped her face with both hands and whispered her name.

“Carrie...”

She pulled him to her and they kissed furiously. A sense of urgency suddenly electrified them and they got rid of their clothes frenetically, eager to discover each other's bodies. All of a sudden their hands, their kisses, their breaths were all over the place.

Their embrace was wild and desperate, the resolution of a long wait and repressed feelings. He didn’t know anymore what he was whispering in russian as she moaned under his assaults. She was supple and frenetic under him with an energy he would not have thought her capable of, sometimes audacious, sometimes compliant, totally  _present_.

There was no more asylum, no more black box, no more Islamabad, no more syringes or betrayals. All that remained was the truth of their tightly intertwined bodies, the climax of their orgasms and the overwhelming sensation of being here, now,  _ alive _ .

And when she finally rested her head in the hollow of his neck, trembling and panting between his arms, he knew there would be no return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops.... It looks like I got lost in Yevgeny’s train of thoughts. Hope it’s not too boring. Actually I realized that I really needed to write about “what happened in the asylum”.
> 
> As for the 7 months timeline I have to give credit to Sara from the HYH blog and to an Anon who I think nailed it. You can find the post here:  
> https://www.hellyeahomeland.com/post/617935021103300608
> 
> Wether you liked this chapter or just want to say hi, please consider leaving a kudo or a comment! I like writing for myself but knowing there is someone on the other side of the looking glass would be nice ! 
> 
> Thanks for reading and take care!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carrie wakes up early. Yevgeny prepares breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey people !
> 
> I am so sorry, it took me an indecent amount of time to write this chapter but here it is!
> 
> I hope you’ll enjoy it!  
> I can’t wait to read your thoughts! Your comments and kudos really brighten my life!
> 
> Thank you for reading and take care!

It had been in her head for some time, from her deep sleep to a state of semi-consciousness, but the more she tried to focus on it, the less she was able to put a name to that persistent feeling of missing something important, something she had to do.

Then she opened her eyes and it came back to her, along with a familiar rush of adrenaline. The debriefing he had told her about. She had to prepare for it. She had to be ready for every twisted question they would ask her. Screwing up was not a option.

Driven by an sudden frenzy, she tried to get up, only to find herself caught in a tangle of arms and legs. Then it struck her. Last night. They had done it. They had finally done it and she didn’t know what to do with this blatant fact.

She could almost have believed that it was a dream, a fantasy, if his body wasn't there, huddled against her, protecting her, if she didn't feel his breath in her hair. And his hand in hers. His leg on hers.

In fact, she remembered everything, with the dazzling clarity of the most intense moments of her life. The almost unbearable excitement she had felt when she had woken up and found him watching her in the dark. The disarming fondness she had captured in his eyes. The way he clasped her body in his arms, like she belonged to him, like his life depended on it.

The sudden realization as she was coming, that she was losing control. That she had utterly surrendered to him, and it was okay.

He had finally carried her to his bed, half asleep and kissed her on the temple one last time before she fell back into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Well, she had wanted it, she had craved it, for longer than she was willing to admit.

But what now? Unpleasant memories of awkward breakfasts with one-night lovers popped up in her mind. She used to avoid them whenever she could, picking up her things in silence and gently closing the door behind her.  


Running away was obviously not an option and she was surprised to realize that she didn't want to, that she would actually like to know what it was like to play domestic life with him.

With a succession of imperceptible movements, she managed to get out of bed without waking him up and tiptoed into the living room, still naked.

There, she took a moment to contemplate the view on the city stretched out at her feet.

Judging by the daylight, it was still early in the morning. The roar of the city began to rise in the distance and there was something reassuring about seeing the world open to a new chapter. No matter how good or bad she felt, the sun would continue to rise, the earth would continue to revolve around it. As the day before appeared to her through the fuzzy prism of endless tears, those ridiculously mundane things that no one paid attention to suddenly seemed the most precious and comforting ones. She marveled at how rested she now felt , shivering with the acute awareness of being alive, _in control_.

She sighted her clothes dispatched on the floor and hastily put on her panties and t-shirt, then went to her room to grab a pen and a notebook in her bag, came back to the living room and sat down on the rug, cross-legged.

She knew exactly what she had to do and it took her only minutes before she found herself surrounded by sheets of paper covered with texts and symbols, arranged in a way that fitted perfectly the map she had in her mind. She had retraced in her head the long journey that had taken her to Moscow and translated it all around her, forming a coherent and deeply satisfying whole, except for a few unanswered questions that she could not solve on her own.

She was so focused on her work that she didn’t hear him coming and jumped when he squatted behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

"Fuck! You scared the shit out of me!"

"I thought you were gone...” , he whispered next to her ear, before placing a kiss on her shoulder.

She mentally swept away the relief in his voice, the warmth of his hands on her arms.

“It’s not like I have many place to go... Look, at what time is the debrief scheduled?”

He detached himself from her and sat on the sofa in front of her, taking one of her notes from the coffee table.

“At 09.30.”, he replied distractedly while trying to decipher her writing, apparently without success, according to the perplexed expression on his face.

“Ok, so we have time. I need you to help me and answer a few questions.”

He looked up and stared at her blankly. What was it that he didn’t get about whatshe was telling him?

“Carrie. You know it’s 06.30 in the morning, right?", he asked, running his hand over his face in a gesture of irritation. She had to fight the urge to get up, sit on his lap and run her hand through his tousled hair.

“Yeah... and? Listen, I need to know what you told them.”

”To whom, about what?”

“To your people. About us. About everything ! You must have been debriefed too, you must have made a report?”

She chose to interpret his silence and inscrutable expression as a yes and reiterated her question, eyebrows up in expectation :

“So, what did you tell them?”

"What do you think I told them?”, he reluctantly answered, shrugging his shoulder.

“I’m not in the habit of lying to my people. I told them exactly what happened..."

He paused, then leaned forward to get closer to her, elbows on his knees, and added calmly, with a hint of threat in his voice:

“...And I strongly suggest you do the same...”

“Come on, this is not about lying or telling the truth. This is about telling the same story ! I mean, what did you tell them about what happened at the asylum between us? How far did you get into details? Did you tell them you were helpingme finding Max ? Did you tell them that I was wittingly working with you from start to finish? The closer I am to your version, the more likely I am to be trusted, you get it?

“No, I don't understand why you should say anything other than what you think happened, and I don't think we should be having this conversation right now. What we should do now is go back to bed for an hour and...”

"No, can you just focus for a minute? This is important.” she cut him off, fairly pissed off. Her voice sounded louder than she had intented and he froze for a second.

“Carrie, are you alright?”

“Pfff... Of course I’m alright, why do you ask? I haven't felt this good since the day you walked into my life and blew everything up! So don’t you try to deflect and answer my fucking question.”

“I'm asking you because it's 6:30 in the morning and you're sitting on the floor in the middle of a pile of paper. And you’re talking very fast.”

His gaze wandered on her, suddenly concerned.

“Carrie, did you take your meds?”

Was he the new Maggie or what?The only excuse he found to avoid her questions was to question her sanity?

“Off course I...”

_ Fuck . _

On second thought, it was quite possible that she didn't take her lithium before falling asleep on the couch. 

In fact, she was now certain of that and she brusquely got up and rushed to her room, waving at him not to follow her.

She didn’t need his help, she didn’t need his pity. She’d had her fair share of pity in her life and it had never been helpful. In the end, she had always been on her own with that sick brain of hers. That was her burden. That, and all the fucking mess it usually caused, too.

She frantically rummaged through her bag of meds and took the one pill of lithium she had skipped. The one pill that ruled her life.

When she returned to the living room she contemplated the sheets of paper on the floor, stupidly arranged so as to form a sun and she saw herself through his eyes, the shame seeping into her.

All this stupid craziness.

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid_.

She frenetically picked up the sheets of paper from the floor, crumpled them up, strode to the kitchen, and threw them angrily into the first trash can she found.

When she looked up, she sighted him looking at her from the other side of the kitchen and she anticipated the question she was reading on his face.

”I’am alright. I just took my lithium, it should take effect soon. Last night I fell asleep before taking it so... ”

She stood, swinging from one foot to the other, feeling her frenzy morph into utter despair. What happened to that exhilarating sense of control she had felt when she had woken up? Was it all a product of her sick mind ? Why was it that the one time she thought she was fine turned out to be the forerunner of a manic episode ?

Her lower lip began to tremble and she nervously bit it, so hard that she felt the metallic taste of blood in her mouth.

“You don’t look alright.”, he said, approaching her and she crashed on his chest, feeling sobs rising. He took her face between his hands and tilted her head back, staring down at her from above, his face so close from her, then softly wiped her nascent tears with his thumbs.

“No, don’t cry, Carrie. Please, don’t cry...shhh...”

And she didn’t. She just lost herself in his gaze, his voice, his warmth...

That tenderness that emanated from him, she had always felt it fluttering around her. Now, it was overwhelming her, leaving her weak and dizzy, unable to think anymore. It was so easy to let go, too easy, and she wasn't sure she was allowed to. Deep down, she knew she shouldn't get used to it, just as she knew how it would inevitably end, how it always ended - in blood and tears.

She held him tighter against her.

He was gently massaging her neck and shoulders and she wondered when was the last time someone did that to her. The answer was probably Jonas, more than 3 years before, her one and only attempt at a normal life, a life that she had hastened to destroy, claiming that she had to save the world first. Older memories resurfaced, painfully vivid. Her father used to do that, too, at every turning point of her childhood then as a young adult. Like when she had left for Baghdad for the first time as a young and enthousiastic CIA analyst. She saw him waving at her, hiding his anguish under a confident smile as she walked through the door of the airfield. God, she missed him. But for the first time she was grateful he wasn’t there anymore. Because knowing what had happened to her, what she had done, would have probably killed him.

“You’re so tense... Why don’t you rest a bit while I prepare breakfast?”, she heard his voice resonating in his chest, pulling her out of her train of thoughts.

She nodded and let go of him.

When she came back to the kitchen half an hour later, showered and dressed, she was grateful to him not to ask her for the umpteenth time if she was ok. He just handed her a cup of coffee and toasts.

“Look, about the debriefing. You don’t have to worry about it. Just keep in mind that they want to see you as an asset."

"Yeah...pretending otherwise hadn't crossed my mind," she wryly declared.

He ignored her remark and continued:

“What they want to hear is that your were turned. It doesn't matter whether you did things wittingly or not at one time or another. In the end, they must believe that you are no longer loyal to your people.”

“Isn’t that what you did ? Turn me ?”

“Come on, Carrie. Don’t play that game with me. We both know why you did what you did...

So, once you get this, all you have to do is to tell what happened. It doesn't matter if we have different views. Just stick to yourversion of the story, so you won't get confused.

One more thing. Keep a low profile and don’t forget to thank them. To be perfectly clear, they do you a huge favour to welcome you here and they will expect some gratitude, especially from an American defector. And believe me, those people are extremely sensitive to flattery. So don't try to play smart like you do with me. Don't forget that these are the people who will sign your residency permit.”

She wasn't sure if she was ready to express her gratitude to a bunch of high-ranking intelligence officials who would see her as the finest American catch sincethe end of the Cold War. But did she have a choice?

“Will you be there?”, she asked him.

“I’ll be at the first meeting with the officials.”

“Ok. And what did you tell them about me being here and not at the safe house?”

“That's my problem, not yours.”

“What if they ask me and I say something else?”

“What else? I told them what happened, nothing more, nothing less.

It looked like he was an expert at dodging inconvenient questions. Well, she also happened to be an expert at demanding answers and she made a point of pushing him into a corner.

“Do you sometimes happen to answer a damn question?”

He sighed loudly, rested the orange he was peeling and turned around, leaning against the worktop.

“I told Mirov that you were in no condition to be left alone after what happened at the airfield...

He looked away, hesitating to continue.

“And...?”, she encouraged him.

“That I needed to keep an eye on you... That I needed to make some kind of a psych eval.”

His gaze fixed on her, deadly serious, with an expression that was not unlike the one he had had when she had asked him about their meeting at Gulom's office, and she found herself once again weighing the part of reality and the part of fiction in his words.

The fact that he had confessed this to her was probably a good sign and she eventually raised her eyebrows, thoughtfully nodding her head, before a smile lit up her face as she remembered how the previous night had ended up, how she kind of liked the idea of him keeping an eye on her.

“A psych eval.... so that’s how you call it...”

His features instantly relaxed, giving way to a beguiling smile and he approached her, suddenly playful and tender. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and buried his face in her hair.

“Speaking about psych eval...I’m not completely done with you..., he said.

Her mind spontaneously drifted back to the previous night, when she had given way to her instincts as if nothing else mattered.

“Yevgeny?”

“Hmmm...” He was burying his face in her neck, kissing her slowly.

She swallowed and paused before continuing:

"Last night... was that the first time we...?”

He whirled her seat around and she found herself facing his bewildered face.

"You don't know?"

With his hands on her shoulders, he was looking on her face for the answer to his question.

She shook her head slightly and shrugged her shoulders, helpless.

"How could I know?”, she replied at last.

She saw a shadow sweep over his face and he placed a hand on her cheek.

"Of course it was the first time, Carrie. You know... nothing significant happened back there...It wasn’t the right place, nor the right time. And obviously you were not ... you were so vulnerable... I just couldn't have done that to you. I didn’t even think about it at that time...

She looked at him, clinging to his every word, holding her breath. She could feel the beats of her heart pounding fast and hard in her chest.

"You know that, don't you?"

She didn't answer and just turned her face away, frowning. He then grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him.

"Hey, don’t you?”

She shrugged.

"Yeah... That's what I thought, but I don't really trust my memory, so...”

He looked away with a brief, humourless laugh.

"What?", she asked.

"Nothing, I just hoped that if you don’t trust your memory, you'd trust me enough to believe I'd never take advantage of you under such circumstances...

His voice was low and weary, almost a whisper as he continued.

"But I guess I took advantage of you in other ways. So, you can think whatever you want... I hardly could blame you for that....”

She wanted to tell him that she wasn't sure why he wouldn't do this to her, because she would probably have done it under the same circumstances. She wanted to tell him that she wouldn't have cared too much about it if he had.

But she didn’t.

Maybe because his earnestness had caught her of guard and she believed him.

Because after seeing his desperate attempt at convincing her, it seemed obvious that he wasn't _that_ kind of bad guy, and she wasn't sure she wanted to be _that_ woman to his eyes, the one who didn't think twice before using sex to get her way.

His hand was still on her cheek, and she turned her head to put a kiss in his palm. He looked at her again for a moment, tenderly, with a wistfulness that she never thought she would ever see on him. She believed for a fleeting moment that he was about to say more, but he just sighed and declared, ending the conversation:

“We should get ready”.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carrie has an idea. Yevgeny is just tall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone !  
> I hope you are doing well !  
> I feel like I never do what I say, but I thought this short chapter would have more impact as a stand alone, as it is a pivotal scene for Carrie.  
> Next chapter coming soon...

Waiting for the meeting in a corridor at the GRU headquarters, she contained her anxiety by observing Yevgeny and Mirov who were standing a little further away, engaged in a lively conversation - most likely about her.

She couldn’t help herself noticing once again how ridiculously tall Yevgeny was. His arm was carelessly leaning on the wall and from where she stood, it looked like Mirov was almost entirely swallowed by Yevgeny’s coat.

Based on their behavior, an outsider would probably not have bet on Mirov as the superior between the two of them. He talked fast and gesticulated when Yevgeny remained calm and dominant, towering over him. Yet she detected no animosity between them, perhaps even some kind of affection from Mirov, who tapped Yevgeny's arm familiarly to end the conversation as a secretary showed them into the conference room.

Yevgeny nodded to her and she followed them, a slight apprehension invading her as she walked through the door. She instinctively looked up at Yevgeny, searching for a sign of reassurance on his face, but he was inscrutable and focused, so much so that when she finally felt a hand furtively brush her lower back, she thought she had imagined it.

With the exception of the official portrait of the President of the Federation that ostensibly adorned the wall in front of her, the meeting room she walked into was not much different from the meeting rooms she had known in Langley, just as the middle-aged high-ranking officials in suits and uniforms that awaited her resembled in every way those she had encountered during her career at the CIA.

Except that she was far from being in Langley. 

And as the names and functions of her interlocutors were introduced to her, it stroke her that she had been in that same building a year ago in a very different position. Here, she had climbed the walls to reach Simone Martin, she had managed to convince her to leave with her and then they had both fled under Yevgeny's nose, with only two wigs, one brunette, the other blonde as a trick.

_You can do just about anything_.

Maybe Yevgeny was right. She could do just about anything and she could _not_ not think about what she could do, now that she was inside the enemy's lair.

And suddenly, it was like the translator's voice in her headphones was distant, like the beats of her hearts had stopped.

Suddenly, it was like everything was falling into place.

And it was so obvious that she wondered how on earth hadn't she thought of it before, instead of feeling sorry for herself.

Because it was the only thing that finally made sense in this fucking mess she had gotten herself into.

Because it was the only way to make up what she would never forgive herself for, to keep on doing what she was meant for.

Because just thinking about it was so exhilarating that she felt like screaming and laughing and maybe she had just done so, because the corner of her lips might have just curled slightly, before she met Yevgeny's gaze and her nascent smile fell back as quickly as it had appeared.

If looks could kill, she would have probably been dead by now. He was staring at her from the other side of the table, cold and dark, and a for a fleeting second she was certain that he had just read her thoughts. She was suddenly back in the negotiation room one year before when they were facing each other and he had sized her with a slight smirk that seemed to say : “ _You think you are playing me, but and you’ll soon find out that I am always one step ahead of you”._

God, why did she have to come up with this idea in the middle of this meeting?

A lump formed in her throat and she caught herself looking desperately in this cold and detached man for the Yevgeny who anticipated all her needs, the one who, a few hours earlier had taken her into his arms so carefully and tenderly that she had forgotten her tears, that she had believed everything would be alright.

What was his place in all this? She panicked at the thought of betraying his trust.

“Miss Mathison ? Can we proceed?”, Mirov called her to order.

“Yes. Please.”, she replied, pulling herself back together, almost relieved to find an way out of her ramblings.

“First of all we would like to offer you, on behalf of the Russian government, our sincere apologies for what happened yesterday at the airfield. This is not the way we treat our people and we want you to know that those responsible will be accountable for their actions.

She wasn’t expecting such a warm welcoming and she just nodded politely, before Mirov continued.

“We also want you to know that we are grateful for what you did. You identified a traitor that had been causing damage to our country for more than 30 years...”

_Anna, Her name was Anna_ , she wanted to shout in their faces. And she could almost feel her presence here - a ghost without a face. She must have been in this very room sometimes. She must have listened to the same men, and then she must have reported what she heard on a thin strip of paper and sent it to Saul, hidden in the binding of an old red book. And she had gone on, year after year.

Guilt swept over her as she remembered how she had ended up, cornered, lonely, and she had to force herself to refocus on Mirov’s speech.

“...You have a strong advocate in the person of Colonel Gromov, and he highly praised your qualities and skills.”

Colonel... it looked like someone got promoted. She glimpsed at him but he remained composed, leaning carelessly against the back of his chair. He had kept his coat on, as if he was just passing by and was sitting ostentatiously apart from the others. Alongside these sad and dull men, he looked clearly out of place, yet, why did she have the distinct feeling that he was the one ruling the room with his silent presence?

...“He told us about the sacrifices you did for us. For all these reasons and considering that you cannot return to your country, we have decided to initiate a political asylum procedure for you.

That said, you’ll understand that, given your antecedents, we have to make sure you are no longer a threat to us. So for the next month, you’ll have to submit to multiple debriefings and tests before you get the clearance for your long-term residency permit. The first one of them being scheduled just after this meeting. Of course these debriefings will have nothing to do with what you experienced when you were held in custody. Is everything clear for you ?

She swallowed and answered with her most assured voice.

“Yes, it is...” 

“I think we got a short memory.” A general, who seemed particularly hostile from the beginning, suddenly spoke without even deigning to look at her.

“Have you all forgotten what this woman did less than a year ago? She and her friends turned that very building we are in upside down and took all the risks in to exfiltrate one of our own. Why should we trust someone who is willing to be captured out of loyalty? How do we know she wasn't sent here to screw us over again?”

She opened her mouth to answer but Yevgeny cut her off with an impatient cough.

“Let me put it another way, General. It took her only a few days to identify a mole that had been acting for more than 30 years right under our nose. And while we were all strutting around at the UN, she was packing her things, leaving her life and country behind, along with a dozen of charges for treason. So, the question is simple : do we send her back there ? Is that what we do with our assets ? Is that the signal we want to send to the people who are risking their lifes all over the world as we talk? No, I don’t think we do. End of the story. That’s what this is about. As for the question of trust, that’s what debriefings are for."

The calm contempt and arrogance of his tirade caused some dubious pouting and side-eyes among the audience, but no one dared to contradict him and Mirov resumed his speech.

Was he completely oblivious to defend her so vehemently in front of his superiors or did he not give a damn about what they thought of him? The latter was the more plausible explanation.

She remembered what Saul had told her about him as they were working out a plan on their flight to Moscow. He suspected him of being a lone wolf, responding only to the Kremlin, and he was probably right. His GRU rank was most likely a cover giving him some kind of respectability in the intelligence world, but she sensed that he was protected by much more powerful people.

For her part, his eagerness to defend her stirred something in her. The comforting certainty that he would be there for her, no matter what.

Just like Saul.

“...You will not be allowed to go out alone, two security agents will accompany you at all times and you must inform the liaison officer of your movements 24 hours beforehand”, Mirov continued.  
“After what happened yesterday, we hope you understand that this is about your safety and not about monitoring you. Besides we can’t ignore the risk that your former employers may seek to reclaim you... or worse.”

Really? She would have liked to bite back that "her former employers" as they called them, were not in the habit of eliminating traitors. As far as she knew, that was rather a Russian tradition, not to say a GRU one.

But she kept her mouth shut, as the good little soldier she was, and instead she thanked them.

She assured them that she would be worthy of their trust, that she would obediently submit to all the debriefings and tests they would want. That she would comply with all the necessary security rules. She would do so, because from now on, this was part of her plan.

Her name was Anna, and she was going to stand in for her.

She didn't know how she would do it, nor when she would be able to do it - obviously not right now, probably not in the next few months either. But it didn't really matter, because she would get there eventually. No matter what it would cost her, no matter what would happen to her.

She would lay low. Wait. Then come to life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, let me know what you think ! Your comments and kudos gives me life, really.😘


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